the past

I’d like to think there was a purpose to all of it, the bad marriage, the abuse. I’d like to think that my experience led to some great epiphany that led to me changing the world. These are fantasies I have and hold onto, but as time passes I realize that it was simply something I went through until I couldn’t go through it anymore – like anything really. Eventually my endurance for the experience ran out. So why talk about it anymore? Well, I don’t want to now, and I’m forgetting more of it all the time. It feels like I’m holding onto the shreds of my previous existence so that I can imbue it with some meaning, but maybe there is no meaning, or maybe I still don't get it.